Page 40 of Her Darkest Possession (Baryshev Bratva #2)

ONE WEEK LATER

Sea breeze wafts through the open car window as we drive along the coastline toward what used to be our home.

Every now and then, there's an unmistakable hint of warmth on it reminding me that summer is just around the corner.

So much has happened since winter—both the terrible and the beautiful—that I almost can't believe it.

After the mansion burned down, we took up residence in a penthouse Anatoly owned in Manhattan. It's sleek and modern with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the city, but it never quite felt like home.

Just a temporary shelter while we regrouped and planned.

The weeks after Vassily's death were hard, especially on Anatoly. They never found his remains in the burnt-out wreckage of the mansion. The fire burned so hot that first responders said it was like the building itself had been cremated from the inside out.

In lieu of an actual body, we buried an empty urn bearing Vassily's name right next to Valentina. I still remember how Roma's shoulders shook during the ceremony, though his face remained impassive.

Anatoly and Roma secluded themselves for three days after the funeral, not wishing to be bothered or seen while they both grieved in their own ways.

At the end of those three days, Anatoly emerged with his eyes clearer than before, like he finally made peace with something inside himself.

The Volkov Bratva has been completely dismantled. With Taras, Grisha, and Lola gone, there was no one left to hold it together. Their brigadiers and soldiers either pledged loyalty to Anatoly or found themselves new masters to follow.

Killian surprised everyone by taking only a small token piece of territory in Brighton Beach instead of all the holdings that once belonged to the Volkovs like he demanded. It was a smart move, and made his intrusion into their territory much more acceptable to the other Russian crime families.

And as weeks became months, it seems that the tentative peace is likely to hold.

But all of this—the war, the territories, the political maneuvering—feels secondary now. My world has narrowed to what truly matters: our growing family and building something lasting with Anatoly.

Right around Christmas, Anatoly and I discovered we were having a baby boy. We were curled up in front of the fireplace in our temporary penthouse when Dr. Espina called with the results.

And just like Anatoly and I discussed on Thanksgiving, we agreed that our son's name will be Oliver. We spent all night saying that name in every way we can while we marveled at the life growing inside of me.

Sometimes, I still can't believe that all of this started with Anatoly sitting in the chair and me holding a razor against his throat.

"Are you comfortable?" Anatoly asks, his eyes briefly leaving the road to check on me.

"I'm fine," I assure him. My back has been aching all morning. At six months pregnant, everything is just a little bit uncomfortable, no matter how attentive and helpful everyone has been around me.

In the backseat, Amara is busy refreshing her phone. Columbia acceptance decisions are supposed to be coming out today, and she hasn't been able to get a good night's sleep for the past three days.

I've been telling her all week that no matter what the results are, I'll always be proud of her.

But that didn't do much to alleviate her stress.

The car turns onto the long winding driveway leading up to where the Baryshev mansion once stood. Construction crews are everywhere. The rebuilding started almost immediately after the funerals, and everyone seemed eager to see it completed as soon as possible.

We come to a stop, and Anatoly puts the car in park. Then, he steps out of the car, comes around to open my door, and helps me out to look at the sight.

"What do you think?" he asks.

The structure before us is unmistakably the same mansion, but now it feels somehow different. Like a great weight has been lifted from within it. Where before it felt like a beautiful prison, now it looks and truly feels like a home.

"It's beautiful," I tell him.

And I mean it.

"We're still on track to completing in a couple of more months," he tells me. "Everything should be ready for us to move in by late summer when Oliver arrives. Come, we can take a look inside."

I glance back at the car where Amara and Svetlana still haven't gotten out. Amara's hunched over her phone, frantically refreshing the Columbia admissions portal. Her finger swipes downward repeatedly, her eyes never leaving the screen.

"Anything yet?" I call back.

Amara shakes her head without looking up. "Not yet. It should be any minute now."

Svetlana leans over, peering at the screen. "Stop worrying so much. You definitely got in."

"Don't jinx it!" Amara snaps, pulling her phone closer to her chest protectively. "The essay still wasn't perfect, and my math grades from junior year were—"

"Perfectly fine." Svetlana rolls her eyes at me over Amara's head. "You worry more than your sister, and that says a lot, Amara Malcolmovna."

Amara groans. "Easy for you to say! Columbia is super competitive, and what if something went wrong with the application? What if they lost it, or, or—"

"Or nothing," I call back to her. "They'll announce their decision when they announce, and worrying about it won't do you any good."

"Easy for you to say, Miels. You already got in once."

"Yeah, Miels," Svetlana backs her up. "Not all of us are as accomplished as you."

She usually takes Amara's side in things these days. But I suppose that's just what little sisters do. They stick together and refuse to listen to the wisdom of their elders.

But I am glad to see that their friendship has only deepened, and I'm even gladder that it finally feels like things can return to a semblance of normality.

"Fine, worry all you want. But would you at least like to come look at the house with us? Refreshing won't make the decision come any faster."

"Ugh, fine." Amara shoves her phone back in her back pocket.

We walk through the rebuilt front doors of the mansion, and I'm struck by how similar it looks to the original woodwork. Most of the walls have been rebuilt, and even under the cover of several large plastic tarp, the elegant staircase has been restored to its former glory.

"It's already looking so beautiful," I say.

Anatoly nods. "They'll be putting on the final touches in a few weeks. Paint, fixtures, molding... and then the furniture will arrive next month."

We make our way down the west wing through hallways lined with plastic sheeting. Workers nod respectfully as we pass, and a few even pause their tasks to greet Anatoly with a deferential bow.

When we reach a particular door, Anatoly stops. He glances at me with an expression I can't quite read—something between excitement and nervousness—before pushing the door open.

I step inside and gasp.

Unlike the rest of the house, this room is completely finished.

The walls are painted a soft sky blue with delicate white clouds.

A beautiful wooden crib sits in the center, with a matching changing table and rocking chair nearby.

A bookshelf already filled with children's books stands against one wall, and a plush carpet covers the floor.

In the corner sits a small mountain of unopened boxes.

It's Oliver's nursery!

"When... how did this happen?" I ask.

Anatoly shrugs. "I've been coming here every night for the past few weeks. After you fall asleep."

"Every night?" I turn to him, surprised.

He nods. "I wanted it to be perfect for when Oliver arrives. I even built the crib myself."

I look at the beautifully crafted piece of furniture with new appreciation. "You built this?"

"Roma helped with some of it," he admits. "But yes. I wanted our son to have something made by his father's hands. Do you like it?"

"Yes." I nod. "I love it."

Suddenly, our peaceful moment is broken by a high-pitched shriek echoing down the hallway. Anatoly and I exchange startled glances before hurrying out of the nursery.

Amara stands at the end of the corridor, jumping up and down with her phone clutched in one hand while Svetlana watches with an amused smile.

"I GOT IN!" Amara screams when she sees us, waving her phone wildly. "I GOT IN! I GOT IN!"

My heart swells with pride as I rush toward her. "You got your acceptance letter?"

"YES!" She thrusts her phone at me, and the words "Congratulations on your acceptance to Columbia University" jumping out at me.

I pull her into a tight hug, feeling tears spring to my eyes. "I'm so proud of you, Amara. So, so proud."

She hugs me back fiercely, and I can feel her trembling with excitement. "I can't believe it, Miels. I actually did it!"

Anatoly steps forward, and places a hand on my shoulder. "That reminds me. There's a second surprise."

"A second surprise?" I ask, finally releasing Amara from my embrace.

Anatoly nods, then walks back into the nursery. When he returns, he's holding an envelope in his hands. It's cream-colored with an unmistakable blue seal of Columbia in the corner.

"This came yesterday afternoon," he says, extending the envelope toward me.

I stare at it, momentarily confused. "What is this?"

"Open it and see," he urges gently.

With slightly trembling fingers, I break the seal and pull out the letter inside. The Columbia letterhead stares back at me, official and imposing, and I take a deep breath before I start reading.

"Dear Mrs. Indigo Baryshev," it begins.

My eyes scan the first paragraph, and I almost drop the letter in shock.

"We are pleased to inform you that your application for re-matriculation has been approved.

In light of your exceptional academic record prior to your withdrawal, the extenuating circumstances surrounding your departure, and your current conditions, the committee has unanimously voted to allow you to return next fall so that you might take the time to spend as much time with your family before resuming your pursuit of higher education here at. .."

I can't read anymore through the tears suddenly blurring my vision.

I look up at Anatoly, who's watching me with such tenderness it makes my heart ache. "You... you did this?"

He smiles that small, private smile that's only ever for me. "I made a few calls. Pulled some favors. But it was your academic record that did most of the work."

"But how did you even—"

"After everything I've done for you, are you really still surprised about this?"

I launch myself into his arms, nearly knocking him backward. "Thank you," I whisper against his neck. "Thank you so much."

I pull back just enough to kiss him, pouring all my gratitude and love into it. When we break apart, both of us are a little breathless.

"You know," Anatoly says, his voice low and intimate, "the best surprises always come in threes."

I blink at him, still dazed from the kiss and the letter. "What? You have something else planned?"

Anatoly's lips curve into that dangerous smirk I've come to love. Instead of answering, he looks over my shoulder. "Sveta?"

Svetlana steps forward with that signature eye-roll of hers that I've come to know so well.

"You just can't help but be a little extra today, could you, Tolya?"

But there's no mistaking the affection in her voice as she drops something small into Anatoly's waiting palm.

Time seems to slow as Anatoly lowers himself to one knee. His eyes never leave mine as he looks up at me. Amara gasps beside me, her own excitement temporarily forgotten.

"Indigo," he begins, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. "When we first married, there wasn't a real proposal, and you didn't really have a choice."

He opens his hand to reveal a stunning ring with a deep blue sapphire surrounded by diamonds that catch the light from every angle.

"Which is why I want to do this properly," he continues. "The way you deserve."

He takes a breath, and I realize I'm holding mine.

"You've become everything to me. My wife, the mother of my child, my queen..." His voice grows softer, more intimate. "My britvochka and my printsessa all at once. So I'm asking you now, with a real choice."

I feel tears welling up in my eyes, and I know my answer even before he asks.

"Indigo Taylor, will you marry me?"

"Yes," I whisper, then louder with conviction, "Yes, I will marry you. Again and forever."